|Carruthers' Demise, Chapters ten and eleven (standard:drama, 2434 words) [6/24] show all parts|
|Author: Brian Cross||Added: Jul 22 2011||Views/Reads: 1199/744||Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Carruthers suspects his wife of having an affair with his publisher, but are his suspicions well-founded? Continuation of my drama.|
Chapter Ten Carruthers recalled little of anything Noades said to him after that. He thought the barman had suggested he let matters lie and start with a clear head in the morning, but he was enveloped in a blind fury, too angry with Chelsey, too incensed with Goldhawk to pay heed to any advice. He'd muttered something or other to Noades as they'd parted company that evening, but the first action he'd performed upon returning to his room was to call the lousy Goldhawk there and then, so charged up had he been. But when that hadn't worked, when repeated calls to both house phone and mobile met only a robotic recorded message, Carruthers' basic instincts took over. Goldhawk knew who was phoning; that was why he hadn't answered – or perhaps the two of them were cosily wrapped in each other's arms, too indulgent in themselves to pay heed to his repeated attempts to get through. Well they'd pay heed alright, he'd see to that. Carruthers checked his watch, eight forty five – little over forty five minutes had passed since they'd initially set out, though it seemed like hours. He wasn't being treated like this, either by the licentious Goldhawk or his treacherous wife. He'd never have believed it could happen, but the fact that it had filled him with uncontrollable anger. Carruthers set his enraged sights on Haslemere, and Goldhawk's spacious Tudor mansion; at this time of evening he could reach it in two hours. And he would. Snatching his keys from the table, Carruthers ran down to his vehicle, ramming the four- by-four into gear and narrowly avoiding a side-on collision as he exited via the hotel archway onto the village one-way system paying scant attention to approaching traffic. The narrow miss, as the oncoming car screeched to a halt amidst angry blasts of its horn, at least served to buck-up his concentration, if not to douse his fury. He sped onto the M3 motorway, its lack of eastbound traffic aiding his progress, but the closer his journey took him towards the Buckinghamshire countryside, the more the veil of red before his eyes allowed pockets of realism to infiltrate his mind, much as he fought to disperse them. Did he really expect to find Goldhawk in? Would he have been likely to have swept her back to his main residence? For what it was worth the louse had a wife, Jacqueline, making it even more unlikely he'd take Chelsey back there. But he'd make sure Jacqueline knew about her husband's infidelity. He'd do that alright. It took him less than two hours to reach Goldhawk's residence, an impressive Tudor fronted mansion in a swish crescent on the northern edge of the town. The steel-barred gates were invitingly open, which was fine – and Goldhawk's Jaguar stood outside his garage at the top of his lengthy arced drive. Okay, so it wasn't an Audi as Mrs. Winterman's husband had thought, but it was the same colour and that sealed things for him. So Goldhawk was inside, unsuspecting of his presence. He'd most probably shopped Jacqueline off for a few days, replacing her with his wife. That thought alone generated renewed rage in Carruthers. His Range Rover catching the kerb and then mounting the pavement, he abandoned it unlocked and marched up the driveway. But as he followed the arc towards the main door he saw at least eight or nine vehicles parked in the crown of the drive, beyond his vision until now. He'd walked into a function, and it wasn't solely the array of vehicles that told him so – the raised voices and music flooding his ears confirmed as much. Carruthers cursed his impetuosity, the scene he was about to create was Click here to read the rest of this story (220 more lines)
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